


the feather-brained king

by catchafallingstarfish (spaceboy_niko)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: AH Kings Big Bang 2018, Gen, Kings AU, Sky Factory AU, bet you didn't expect to see chicken-millie as a tag, minecraft au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboy_niko/pseuds/catchafallingstarfish
Summary: Geoff wasn’t a king for a very long time, and he’s starting to think he wasn’t ever cut out for the job. The strange things in the sky aren’t helping him, either. It takes a little chicken behind the solar panels to make him realise that maybe he does have a purpose up here.





	the feather-brained king

**Author's Note:**

> oh my GOD sorry i died for a bit there lads, but here is my piece for the 2018 ah kings big bang!! i really like how this went, even if it's not very long
> 
> i'll be back after like...the 9th of november bc exams yeet

He was the First King. He’d built the city with his own two hands, from the ground up.

(Sure, he’d had a little bit of help, but it was all his idea. Don’t listen to what the Fool said, thank you very much.)

In hindsight, he should never have declared himself king of Achievement City, because once one man calls himself a king, every other man wants to follow in his footsteps, and they’re willing to do anything to claw their way up to the seat of the throne. He knew this very well – he’d watched them do anything and everything.

The First King was a very, very tired king. It was a relief to hand over the crown.

* * *

Up in the skies, Geoff came to the unfortunate realisation that he was a descendant of the First King.

Well, actually, if he put all the facts together, he probably _was_ the First King, if his memory served him right.

He remembered the old throne on the ground, built high out of gold and obsidian, raided and torn to pieces for supplies when the city fell into despair. He remembered the ceremonial red carpet, all tattered and stained with their blood and the blood of their enemies. He remembered the tree-lined court that was now overrun with monsters, that not even the bravest warriors dared to enter.

They’d fought tooth and nail for the right to sit above their friends. It had kept them up at night. Yes, he remembered the First King, all right.

He really wished he didn’t – he’d be a lot happier to wake up one morning and have forgotten it all. He’d be more than glad to leave that derelict old city behind, where it was only the stuff of legend, and not their old home, where he’d broken his bed to leave with the others in search of a new place, many moons ago. He’d be at peace if it became little more than a campfire tale, something they exaggerated and blew out of proportion to mythic scale – then, maybe, he’d feel better with its near-nonexistence.

But Geoff didn’t believe in being immortal, or in reincarnation, or in quite a lot of things, actually. He was happy to settle with being the First King’s descendant. And besides, he wasn’t interested in all that king business anymore. Not like he was any good at it, anyways – hell, he’d only been king once, and then had to hand on his crown faster than he could say, “You know, I actually really like this whole being king of Achievement City thing. What do you guys think?”

He thought it was time to take a break. Give the whole royalty thing a rest and go back to his roots. He didn’t need to be a king anymore.

Being a simple farmer was more than enough for him.

* * *

 The First King came from humble origins, the proprietor of a simple Farm & Mercantile. A friend to all in Achievement City, never picking a fight, always keeping out of harm’s way, always had whatever you needed for the day. Seeds? Any kind you liked. New pickaxe? Just say the word. Fishing rod? Of course. For a few ingots, the world – or at least, the Simple Farm & Mercantile – was your oyster.

Little did his customers know he’d collected the gold they’d paid him with, and melted it down to forge a crown. It was a little crude at first – he’d never made anything like it before, how the hell was he supposed to know how to make a crown? – but he spent the evenings of his short reign tinkering with it in his workshop, until it was fit enough for, well, a king. Gold was hammered to fine points, an ornate braid twisted around its rim and it was inlaid with rough-hewn lapis chunks the size of hen’s eggs.

It was a comforting weight on his head.

* * *

 The sky was strange, full of odd creatures and peculiar new contraptions. Those who had ruled after him had drooled at the sights, falling in with their own brand of magic and ascending ever further skywards to godhood.

Geoff didn’t want that– didn’t need that. Hell, call him a boring old man, but all this was so new and so weird to him, he just wanted something old and familiar to rely on. Something to tell him that thank goodness, the sky wasn’t so bad after all.

Which was, unfortunately, probably the most reasonable explanation as to how he ended up making awkward eye contact with a chicken behind Gavin’s failing solar panels.

The small white chicken gazed at him, expression unreadable.

Geoff stared back, and mentally shook himself. It was a chicken, for fuck’s sake, it probably didn’t have facial expressions.

The chicken blinked once, twice, and then pecked at the dirt.

Geoff gingerly sat down, being careful not to disturb it. The chicken scratched the grass under its feet, and tilted its head back to look at him.

Geoff patted down his pockets. The last few seeds from his stock rattled around in the bottom, and he dug them out. The seeds nestled dark and glistening in the palm of his glove as he tentatively held them out towards the chicken.

The chicken looked at him again, and hopped over to give him and the seeds a closer look.

“Hello, chicken,” Geoff said timidly, feeling like a huge idiot.

The chicken gave a wobbly little cluck, and pecked at the seeds in his hand.

Chickens, Geoff decided as he carefully scratched its head, were much more easily pleased than humans.

* * *

 The First King was overthrown relatively quickly.

The history books didn’t even like calling it an overthrowing, because at the sight of his challenger, the First King had sighed good-naturedly and taken off the crown he’d worked so hard on, setting it on the head of his successor.

The king isn’t dead, but long live the new king, anyway. May his reign be long and fruitful, and under his guidance, may our city flourish.

Oh, and all the best to the old king in his future endeavours. May the Simple Farm & Mercantile continue to run as long as our city lives.

(In hindsight, he shouldn’t’ve handed the crown on to the Mad King, the Lord of Chaos, the God of Darkness – all those titles probably should’ve been a hint that he was passing his reign onto a complete and utter lunatic.)

* * *

 Geoff’s chicken was growing on him, almost literally – it spent most of its days perched on his shoulder, making low chicken noises of contentment.

He’d crafted a little nest for it for the nights, beside his bed, and he wasn’t bragging when he said he’d be very happy to be a chicken in that nest.

So the days passed – the sun rose, the chicken would flap-hop out of its warm soft nest and Geoff would roll-fall out of his warm soft bed, and they’d begin their day. The sun would set, the mobs would emerge from the shadows, and Geoff would cradle the chicken until they were in the safety of the house. Rinse and repeat.

This was a morning like every other – the chicken flap-hopped out of its warm soft nest and Geoff rolled over in his warm soft bed and stared.

An egg was perched in the nest, smooth surface pale and creamy-white in the morning sunlight.

Geoff leaned down, still half-under blankets until his nose was almost touching it.

“Holy shit,” he whispered in awe.

It was time to make another nest.

* * *

 The First King did not like people.

Granted, his first subjects were not an awful bunch – they were his mates, for crying out loud – but they were still people, and therefore ruling over them was a chore.

Your majesty, the town’s running out of coal!

_Assholes can’t even mine their own coal, there’s plenty under us if you dig deep enough._

Your majesty, the challenges are overrun with creepers!

_You’ve got diamond, you can kill them, you’ll just end up back here if you slept where you were meant to like I told you to!_

Your majesty, would you please let me kill your fucking Fool because he’s just a nuisance, trust me, I’ll be doing Achievement City a service!

_Fucking fine. Whatever._

That last request probably was the one he’d reacted most rationally to. And besides, it was funny to watch the Lord of Chaos laugh as his Fool respawned at the foot of his throne, spluttering and clutching his side as the wound knitted itself back together in front of them.

* * *

 And now there were two chickens, and a second and third egg waiting to hatch.

Two chickens were a bit of a handful, though, as Geoff had to constantly make sure that–

“No no no no no no _no_ !” Geoff hastened over to where a chicken (not just a chicken, _the_ chicken) was pecking curiously at stray shards of lapis from the Sky King’s workshop.

The chicken blinked, and crunched them in its beak.

Geoff counted to ten and breathed deeply, trying not to panic.

What even did you do to stop a chicken from eating _rocks_?

He scooped the chicken up into his lap and patted its head carefully, but it didn’t seem troubled.

“Oh my god. Oh god. Fuckin’– why did you do that, you stupid chicken? Now you’re gonna die and I’m gonna be lonely again,” he sighed. He couldn’t let it go now – he finally didn’t feel stupid talking to the chicken anymore.

The chicken clucked, and ruffled its bright blue feathers.

Geoff’s eyes widened. Either this chicken was about to go belly-up on him or the sky chickens were less normal than he thought.

* * *

 When he thought about it, the First King was kind of a shitty king compared to all the others that followed.

He wasn’t a warrior king, like King Mogar who, with his diamond sword, declared war on the mobs and won.

He wasn’t well-liked by the people, like King Gavin, who somehow rose from the lowly piss-booted Fool of a line of kings to the king himself.

Hell, he couldn’t even have a long, illustrious reign, could he? That had to go to King Ryan, didn’t it? Bastard had ruled three times now – _three_!

Why did he even bother?

The king after him hadn’t kept the crown he’d made for very long, forging his own very quickly. It was cast from iron, wrought intricately and almost-black, and inlaid with glittering polished and faceted red stones.

The lowest blow had been when the new king returned the First King’s old crown to him.

All he had now as evidence of the dynasty he’d started was a shitty crown to sit in a box and gather dust on a shelf. He didn’t even have any descendants to hand it on to.

* * *

 “JACK!”

Geoff normally didn’t associate much with the other people in the sky – he’d barter and trade with them for what he needed in exchange for the produce of his simple farm – but he found himself rushing down to the house of the newest king and his oldest friend.

Jack stared as Geoff held the chicken out, panting. The chicken met his gaze, blinking shiny black eyes inquiringly.

“What’s up, Geoff?”

“Why’s my chicken _blue_ , Jack?!”

Jack looked at him a little oddly. “You haven’t noticed the other chickens around here? Man, you really don’t get out much, do you, Geoff? Although,” he continued contemplatively, “she’s a special little lady, this one. Haven’t seen a blue chicken yet. Wonder what she’ll lay.”

“I don’t know, Jack, _eggs_?”

Jack smiled, eyes crinkling in his sun-reddened face. “Yeah, but the coloured chickens all lay different things, don’t you, girl?” he asked the chicken, cooing and scratching its– _her_ head gently.

“So…she’s not going to die?”

Jack shook his head and Geoff breathed a huge sigh of relief, hugging the chicken back close.

“If you’re interested, you might wanna consider bringing some of the other chickens home. See what you get.”

Geoff was already digging in his pocket with a gloved hand for seeds. “Will do, thanks, Jack!”

He let the chicken hop down to the ground and bent down. She hopped on his shoulder and bobbed her head contentedly as Geoff held out a handful of seeds to a little ashy-grey chicken.

Whistling happily, he made his way home with a small flock of brightly-coloured chickens following him.

* * *

 Let it be known to the world that the novelty of being king wore off very quickly for the First King.

He didn’t exactly get any privileges out of it – he already had the biggest house, the best swords, armour wasn’t exactly hard to come by, everyone did what he said anyway, because who wouldn’t want to provide a humble farmer and merchant with goods for sale?

All that changed when he became king was that he got to sit on a hard-ass fancy chair and wear a cool hat. Even the cool hat felt uncomfortable and gaudy and downright unnecessary.

People still came to him with their problems, and their goods in order to win his favour.

Nothing had changed.

(Aside from the fact that he could officially call for his Fool to be hunted for sport, but that was all, really. And even then, nothing had stopped him in the past.)

* * *

 Geoff spent a fruitful day building a henhouse and nesting boxes for his chickens.

It was not a slapdash job, thank you very much. He had worked long and hard at it, and by the time the last lick of cheery, brightly-coloured paint went on, he felt certain the splinters were worth it.

The chickens seemed pleased, especially the blue one.

One by one, they filed in to roost for the night, clucking and chirping contentedly as they ruffled and preened their feathers.

Geoff ushered the last couple of chickens in, and was about to latch up the door so they’d be safe when he heard another cluck from behind him.

He whirled round to see his blue chicken still standing outside the henhouse, blinking at him.

“What are you still doing out, chicken?” he whispered. “C’mon, it’s time for bed now. In with the other chickens you go.”

The chicken didn’t move.

“I suppose you wanna come back and keep sleeping in the house, hmm?”

The chicken ruffled its feathers and tilted its head.

Geoff sighed. “Fine, c’mere.”

* * *

 The First King wasn’t the First King anymore. He was just a man.

Good riddance, too. King Geoff had an awful ring to it.

But up here in the sky, there were no kings. They were all just…well, people. Up here, each was to his own.

Up here, Geoff had thought he didn’t have a place, a knack, something he was drawn to, like everyone else had.

But now, he had a chicken family– chicken population, more like. He was responsible for them, making sure they were fed and watered, collecting their eggs and anything and everything else they laid.

He found he was able to get quite a pretty penny for everything his chickens could provide.

Gunpowder? Sure. Bone meal? No problem. Diamonds, dye, water, magma cream? All you had to do was ask.

Ask, and then your wishes would be granted. After the chickens’ wishes, of course.

Geoff had a responsibility, a duty.

Maybe he should consider taking up a kingship again.

The First King was claiming a new title.

The First King is no more, long live the Chicken King.

* * *

 “What do you think, chicken?” Geoff asked gently at the newest extension to the chicken-run – a fence, more nesting boxes and a lovely little brightly-painted gate.

The blue chicken made a happy sound, and Geoff smiled.

(Geoff was getting very good at reading the chickens’ emotions through their noises.)

Jack dropped by every so often to check on his progress, and how the chickens were faring, and every time he was impressed.

“Aww, you’ve got a little chicken kingdom here, Geoff!”

Geoff tried to laugh it off – “Please, Jack, we know I’m not cut out for being a king again!” – but secretly he felt a little proud of the title.

“You got a name for that little blue one of yours? She’s practically your chicken daughter!”

Geoff stammered and flubbed – _shit, how hadn’t he named that chicken yet?_

“Uh, Millie.” The name was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he mentally slapped himself. _Idiot, what kind of name is Millie for a chicken?_

But Jack was nodding approvingly. “Millie. Suits her. Will there be more bone-meal next time?”

“‘Course. Anything for you, Jack.”

“You’re too kind. See you then, Geoff and Chicken-Millie! Thanks again!”

As Jack disappeared off into the sky, Geoff turned to the chicken. “Are you okay with being called Millie?”

The chicken ruffled her feathers and clucked in a satisfied manner.

“Alright then. Millie it is. Sorry I didn’t name you before, Chicken-Millie.”

* * *

 The Chicken King shied away from conflict.

When his friends in the sky started talking about resurrecting the old kingdom, he wanted nothing to do with it.

_Ryan won the last one–_

No.

_–and he never organised the games down there, did he?–_

Also no.

_–King Ryan, number 3? Ryan, what d’you think?_

Over his dead body.

_I can set up some games, yeah._

He wanted no part in this. So the Chicken King did what he did best.

He ran.

He ran, pockets full of seeds and his bag full of tools, and hid up in the sky, where his old home was barely visible.

* * *

 Up in the sky, they’d started to fight over their technology – Gavin’s solar was never going to work, Jeremy was siphoning his own blood out like a donor with a death wish, Ryan was going to bring the apocalypse upon them sooner than later, and there were too many fucking dragons around for anyone to move.

Geoff couldn’t stand it anymore.

He’d loaded his pockets and bag with tools and supplies for his new place – dirt, seeds, bone meal, saplings, water. Only missing one thing now.

“C’mon, Chicken-Millie, time to go,” he said softly as he bent down to the nest on the floor. “We’re going to go somewhere where it’s nice and peaceful, and those assholes won’t annoy the crap out of us anymore. It’ll be better for us there. Promise ya.”

Chicken-Millie hopped onto his shoulder, and stayed almost impeccably still as he scrawled a note – Jack was due to visit that day, and he was good with animals. He’d be the best one to care for all the other chickens, make sure the other guys didn’t hurt them or expect too much from them.

Geoff locked his door behind him, and balanced the key on the door jamb (in case he ever needed to come back). The note was stuck to the gate of the chicken-run and with a final glance-over, Geoff held Chicken-Millie close to his chest and took to the grey-pink sky.

When he couldn’t see where he’d come from, the sunrise tinting the world around him a soft dawny orange, he set down the first of the dirt blocks and started building around it, until he didn’t need his jetpack anymore.

(He didn’t break it, though – he couldn’t bring himself to do it.)

* * *

 He was the Chicken King. He’d built his new domain himself, from the ground up.

(The Chicken King swore on his word that the Fool had absolutely no hand in it. The Fool didn’t even know about it until Jack broke the news.)

And it was a much smaller domain than his previous one had been – he could see to the end of it quite easily, and jog to the far fence and back without breaking a sweat.

He had a small arbour of fruit trees, and a little wooden hut, and an amicable blue chicken as his loyal subject and advisor.

The Chicken King would’ve liked to bring more of his subjects with him, but he didn’t have enough arm-room – chickens were fidgety passengers – and besides, everyone down there needed what the chickens could provide. What kind of jerk would he be to take away that from them?

So the Chicken King lived his days simply – he tended to his trees, grew some wheat, fed his chicken and himself and watched the sun set, throwing the distant land into silhouette and keeping it far away.

* * *

 Geoff assumed Ryan was the one in charge of his deliveries, as he was always the one who brought him things he might need from the others. Geoff didn’t know how long it was between deliveries, but Ryan was always prompt and knew not to overstay his welcome – delivered the parcel, took note of what Geoff needed and disappeared off into the sky again, trailing sparks and fire.

Soon, Geoff had a furnace, a flower garden and a little vegetable patch that he tended to lovingly with Ryan’s deliveries of water and a new iron hoe.

“Sorry it wasn’t diamond, we’re going through a bit of a shortage, you know how it is,” he said apologetically. “I’ll bring you up some meat next time?”

Geoff nodded. “And maybe some coal as well? If you can spare it, that is.”

Ryan mirrored Geoff’s nod. “Meat and coal, gotcha. Any particular kind of meat, or should I surprise you?”

Geoff thought for a moment. “Not chicken. Anything but chicken. Speaking of, is Jack treating them nicely?”

“Is it even possible for Jack to treat an animal not-nicely?” Ryan laughed in reply. “I’ll see you next week, then. Those flowers of yours are coming up beautifully.”

“Thank y–” Geoff started, but Ryan was gone, silhouetted against the bright mid-morning sun.

Chicken-Millie pottered around amongst the flowers, blue feathers dipping in and out of the brightly coloured petals by the fence. She seemed happy here.

And, well, if Chicken-Millie was happy here, then Geoff definitely was.

* * *

 The Chicken King was a tired man with many memories.

One of the memories was under his bed, in a small worn wooden box fastened with a simple clasp and lined in simple green wool. It was a memory he’d hesitated to bring with him in his flight from the others, but he’d jammed it in his bag anyway as the night faded into daybreak.

On nights where he missed the ground, he’d take out the memory and look it over with careful hands, run work-calloused fingers over the roughly-hewn lapis pieces the size and shape of glassy blue eggs, cradle its ornate gold-braided rim in palms imbued with dirt.

He sat on the edge of his little sky island and turned it over and over contemplatively, the sunrise catching the jagged facets in the stones and making them twinkle like tiny stars.

The memory’s weight was comforting on his head, and as the sun took its place in the pinking sky, the Chicken King crowned himself with no one to witness him but the dawn and a little blue chicken.

* * *

 Geoff’s deliveries from Ryan became more sporadic, and he outright refused to let Jack deliver him parcels on a dragon, for fuck’s sake. It scared him and Chicken-Millie.

Every delivery, he’d ask what was happening back home. Ryan would never give him a straight answer, that he was working on something big, but Jack was another matter.

“I just really hope whatever Ryan’s working on actually, y’know, works,” he confided to Geoff.

“What’s he working on?”

Jack shrugged. “Something nuclear. I don’t even think Ryan knows.” He climbed into his dragon’s saddle and spurred the lumbering green beast into flight.

“And don’t bring that damn dragon back here!” he shouted after Jack’s retreating silhouette.

“It was eating my flowers, Chicken-Millie,” he complained as he shut his door. “I worked so hard on those flowers.”

Chicken-Millie emerged from where she was hiding in the wheat, and preened her feathers.

* * *

 The Chicken King didn’t know if his reign was any longer or shorter than the First King’s.

It didn’t matter, though. Nothing the First King had could even compare to what he had now.

He knew he was a much happier king than the First King. No games to run, no war to deal with, no one wanting to take his throne. It was simple, but it was more than enough.

The world could end on any day, and he would die a happy man, with his garden and his trees and his chicken.

Even when the boom started echoing through the sky towards him, he was content.

* * *

 The interruptions slowly grew less and less, and Geoff began to rely more and more on his own supplies, until one day Ryan and Jack’s visits ceased altogether. Geoff didn’t mind, though. He didn’t need much – just his garden and his trees and Chicken-Millie.

It was a quiet retirement, the least he deserved. And a man could easily be the king of sixty-four blocks of dirt, a wooden house, a vegetable patch, a flower bed and a blue chicken.

“Y’know what, Chicken-Millie?” he asked as he sat with his legs dangling into the clear sky, the sinking sun below his feet.

Chicken-Millie sat placidly beside him, and pecked at the dirt. Geoff set a hand on her feathery back and smoothed the fluffy plumes of her tail paternally.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this place.”

He looked out at the sky, feeling the sun’s dying heat on his face, and back down at Chicken-Millie, the little blue chicken that had finally made him feel like the king he was again.

“I think we finally found our new home.”


End file.
